


The Thief

by Skipp



Category: Blink-182
Genre: Always have a non slipping Matt on the floor when you plan to have sex on the bathroom counter, Bathroom Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, M/M, Matt contemplates growing a moustache, Matt is a little Shit, Missing some joke tags huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:05:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skipp/pseuds/Skipp
Summary: Mark rummages through the piles on the table, couple of papers fall down from one side. He frowns and goes to the bookshelf. “I swear to god, it must be here somewhere,” he mutters.





	The Thief

**Author's Note:**

> No act comes without consequences. When you're cocky, you'll get cock y.
> 
>  
> 
> *****
> 
> The usuall drill.. all mistakes are mine, all characters appearing in these works are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The situations, the dialogs and other relations are all fictional. The characters have their own personalities and choices that are not those of the real people. 
> 
> Do not post any of my works published here or elsewhere without my explicit permission.

Mark rummages through the piles on the table, couple of papers fall down from one side. He frowns and goes to the bookshelf. His art library is quite extensive, taking up two walls of what he likes to refer as “his atelier”. It’s a large room with a big window, two easels, paint splatters on floor and a lot of empty takeaway coffee cups. They’re great for mixing large amounts of paint with other media, like sand, to get a nice texture.

“I swear to god, it must be here somewhere,” he mutters. He searches under “R” for “Richter” but also looks under “S” for “sky”. Nope, the book is not there. And it’s not even under “P” as for “planes,” which makes Mark really wonder if it’s the age catching up with him. Nonsense. He had the  _Drawings_  in his hands on Monday and he’s sure he laid it on the table so he can show it to Anthony when he comes around.

Mark has always been very dutiful when it came to the art homework. He could search for the particular image on the web, but you know how it is with paintings and digital… nothing beats a good printed version. And the  _Drawings_ were issued as a catalogue to Richard’s exhibition at Tate, so the reproduction quality was outstanding.

“Did I brought home a leprechaun from the last trip that makes my organized mess even more messy?” he wonders, looking around the room, hands on waist.

_Oh wait,_ he chuckles.

Mark eaves the room, walking down the corridor, following the quiet sound of water.

In the bathroom Matt is blissfully spread in the large bathtub. Only the head pokes out from the fluffy pink clouds. The air smells like wild roses and fresh summer air. It’s the organic bath foam Mark gave him for Christmas.

“Heey,” Mark closes the door behind him and goes to sit on the edge of the tub. “Have you, by any chance, seen the Richter’s _Drawings_? You know, the one I showed you last week.”

“Aww, I thought you came to scrub my back,” Matt pouts and blows into the foam, not exactly lifting his eyes to Mark.

“Come on, Anthony will come tomorrow and I have to get ready. I still need reference for that top left part I’m working on.”

Matt is still blowing tiny tunnels into the foam. “And do I get a backscrub if I tell you where it is?”

“You’ll get it. Anything you want.”

“But nice, like in a spa. With a loofah!”

“You get a loofah, I will bring you a cool Club-Mate to the tub, and sing you a lullaby when we fall asleep. Tell me where it is and I come back later with the drinks and we take a bath together, deal?” Mark sticks his hand into the water to test how hot it is. It’s very hot.

“Later? I want my scrub now. And a massage afterwards. Oooh, can we use one of those fancy essence oils I saw in your night stand?” Matt gathers some of the foam in his hands.

“You’re my worst nightmare.”

“Nuh-huh, I’m your best daydream,” Matt grins and blows foam into Mark’s face.

 

“Soo, about my back scrub…,” Matt offers the moment Mark comes back to the bathroom with their drinks. “I was thinking, we could skip that and get straight to the massage,” he wiggles his brows.

“Someone’s being impatient, huh?” Mark sits on the edge of the tub, giving one cold bottle with a straw to Matt.

Matt takes the soda and sucks on the straw, the cold crispy liquid filling his mouth, leaving a mild herb aftertaste. It’s a nice contrast to the hot water around him. “I can be very patient and insistent when I want something,” he points out, comfortably leaning back on the tub headrest.

Mark watches him put away the bottle on the wide tub rim and playing with the slowly dissolving clouds of pinkish foam. His expression is open and fond. “I’m glad you like my present,” he smiles.

“Yeah, I do, though I might have used too much this time.”

Matt’s excuse for dosing the foam so generously is that he loves everything rose scented. The pleasant-smelling fragrance and the hot water makes his head light and dizzy. Matt closes his eyes, listening to the mild splashing of Mark’s hand making little waves.

“Looks like your new tattoo is fully healed,” Mark nods towards Matt’s clavicle.

“Yeah, it is. It settled down really nicely. Luke did an awesome job,” Matt hums satisfied.

“Looks great. First I wasn’t so sure about the placement but it fits you very well,” Mark agrees and leads the little waves to splash towards Matt’s shoulders peeking out of the water. Few drops hit Matt’s face as he opens his eyes again, centering on Mark’s hand swirling in water. Mark notices and deliberately flexes his fingers with pretended nonchalance.

“My own fingers are all wrinkly now, better get out of the water. Pass me the towel, please?” asks Matt while slowly rising from the foamy water. He is red with heat and dripping water as he takes the white towel out of Mark’s hand. He ties it low around his hips and goes to the bathroom vanity, spreading water all over the floor. Matt swipes the little fog patch that lingers on the mirror with his hand away and proceeds to check out his reflection.

“How about I grow a beard, or a moustache?” he asks the room while examining his face. Matt’s facial hair grows extremely slow, so the few attempts on growing something like a beard were a long distance run. He never had the patience to endure through the scratchy period. He tried it twice while on tour, but it was mostly fueled by the total lack of anything similar to personal hygiene.

“Nah, you don’t need to,” Mark moves closer. “You look cute when you’re clean shaved,” he smiles. “And reputable too. I almost fell for the bait of a good, respectable, mature artist who outgrew all his youth mishaps,” Mark’s grin gets wider.

“Ah, you’re the one to tell,” Matt grins at Mark through the mirror reflection and then back at himself, making faces, flexing arms and patting down his belly. “I could use some more weight lifting tho’, the spin classes are cool, but there’s still work to do,” he ends the inspection.

“I think you’re perfect just the way you are, but if you wish, do whatever you feel like would be good for you.” Mark slowly moves, pressing chest to Matt’s back, disregarding the wet stains that form on his blue shirt. His arms loop around Matt’s torso. “I think you’re perfect,” he repeats again, caressing his sides. Matt grins again and Mark lowers head to gently kiss the inked lines of the three arrows on his neck.

“Am I?” Matt purrs, watching their reflection in the mirror.

Mark lift’s his eyes just enough to spot the glint in Matt’s eyes. Blood starts to rise to his cheeks.

“I love every inch of your body and you know it, but I’ll count it out for you if you want,” Mark’s breath is hot.

“Please,“ Matt keens with a slight tremor to his voice, biting his lip, watching Mark’s hands travel over his arms.

“Your arms are like a written chronicle to me. There’s all the evidence of your life, the ups and downs, all the experiences that made you the person you are. The ink draws things you cherish but also mementos you keep to never make the same mistake again. They hug, hold and support, fight and argue over your passions.” Mark reaches for Matt’s hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing the long fingers. “Your fingers write and play my favorite songs about love and death.”

“This is so nice,” Matt blushes, brushing fingers over Mark’s lips again. The room is silent, except for the slight shuddering of his breath.

Mark trails fingers around the pentagram tattoo on Matt’s shoulder, down the curve of his side making Matt sharply draw in breath as nails brush past sensitive places. He gently lays hands on the waist, cautiously rubbing fingers on the soft skin, fingertips burning cold against Matt’s warmth. Their eyes lock in the mirror and Matt swallows. “I think you’re maybe worried and insecure about the shape of your belly, but I like the relaxed softness because I know that the muscles that lie beneath are firm and strong enough to balance your BMX tricks, hours in the gym or a skate sesh’ with Toby and Max.”

The blush rapidly spreads from Matt’s face, down the neck and forms big rose stains all over his chest. “Oh my God, h— how?” he mumbles and hides face in Mark’s neck.

Mark chuckles and continues. He slowly drops his lips to Matt’s shoulder and nibs again on the hot damp skin. Matt moans.

“And I love to rest my head on your chest”, hand ghosts over Matt’s pecs, fingers tracing tattoo lines. “There is nothing better than laying my head over your heart and listen to the beat,” Mark confesses.

There is another moan and Mark presses flush against Matt’s back, hips notching in against his ass, giving him support because Matt shivers and throw his head back like he’s drunk on the things Mark says. They gently sway, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

“Do you have any idea what you’re saying? And how you’re saying it?” Matt asks, voice thick and raspy.

“I’m describing how perfect you are and you’re not being patient. We hadn’t even got to the lower half,” Mark breathes and softly bites at the shell of Matt’s ear. “And that is just as perfect as the top one,” his voice a shallow whisper now, fingers following the V of Matt’s hip lines under the towel. By that time Matt is standing almost on tiptoes, stretched like a bow over Mark’s torso, head thrown over one shoulder and hand over the other. But his eyes don’t leave the mirror.

Their images could not be any more different. The mirror Matt is red with heat, damp hair plastered to the forehead, chest heaving, hand gripping on the basin table, other one fisted at the back of Mark’s shirt. Disheveled, only in a towel wrapped low around his hips he’s the exact opposite of a calm, fully dressed and collected Mark whose hands are now tracing lines along his belly. Crawling inch by inch, he systematically works his way up to Matt ribs, circling swirls of the Hello Cleveland tattoo in slow tantalizing moves. The air in the room is thick, vibrating with tiny moans that Mark draws out of Mark with every turn.

“Fuck Mark, I—!”

Mark groans at the plea, losing his cool, shifting both hands back to Matt’s hips and pulls him hard against him.

Matt smirks before catching Mark’s mouth in a dirty kiss. “Don’t you wanna take off your shirt at least,” he asks, wanting to get on some skin.

“N, no.”

Matt grinds against Mark and is more than pleased to feel he’s not the only one thoroughly enjoying this. Mark nuzzles his way down the back of Matt’s neck, hovering over the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Matt drops his head to the side to give him better access. “Yeah,” he encourages Mark with a whisper barely audible above the sound of blood roaring in his ears. Mark licks and bites along the tendor, teeth now mercilessly scraping sensitive spots.

Mark knows exactly which buttons to push to make Matt even more riled up. His tongue brushes the left earlobe followed by a faint exhale of air over the hot spot. The goosebumps that form instantly all over Matt’s neck and arms are highly motivating.

Matt’s eyes flutter with delight, chest heaving fast.

Mark pushes his hand behind the towel fold and drags blunt fingers across the fuzzy patch above Matt’s cock. Returning hand above the towel he hooks his thumb into the rim and with one strong pull the towel falls down, Matt’s cock jutting up.

Mark licks his palm and wraps it around Matt, who opens and closes mouth without making a sound. He starts to jack him off slowly, torturously. Matt groans and tips his head so he can get a better view of Mark’s hand on his dick in the mirror.

He almost does not recognize himself. He’s a debauched mess, deep red stains his chest and crawls upward, complete with little darker hickeys that Mark left all over his neck. Grasping Matt by the jaw with the other hand, Mark’s kissing him fiercely, like he wants to devour him.

When Mark lets go, Matt’s knees feel like bending involuntary. He grips at the table, trying to find balance. “God, I’m such a mess,” he groans, rolling his ear against Mark’s lips but keeping focus on the mirror and watching Mark react.

Mark just smiles and shifts his hand on Matt’s cock. “I think you’re very pretty like this,” he whispers into Matt’s ear and sinks back to his neck, fingers digging into the inked arrows.

Matt grips the counter harder, watching the movement of Mark’s hand with hazy eyes.

Mark’s not speeding up and Matt wants to push himself more, wants to fuck himself in Mark’s hand. He sobs, head dropping down, continuously overwhelmed by the pleasure. “Come on Mark, please. Just a little more,” Matt reaches to cover Mark’s hand with his own.

“Keep them there,” the sharp order resonates in the room.

Matt sighs and obeys, a thrill running through spine at the way Mark knows what he wants right now.

Mark pushes him down to the side of the vanity table. The feel of cold hard marble against Matt’s chest is verging on too much. But he melts at the first lick of Mark’s tongue at his entrance. Mark tries to soothe him a bit at the start with gentle licks, but it quickly turns into a really messy thing when Matt shamelessly shoves his ass in Mark’s face and begs for more.

And Mark is willing to give him everything he wants. He’s hungrily lapping at his hole and Matt puts every pornstar to shame the moment he opens his mouth. Uttering curses, vividly describing what it feels like to have Mark’s tongue shoved up his ass… Mark’s ears go red at the dirty talking. He rewards Matt by adding his fingers and slowly take him apart, piece by piece.

Matt’s chasing his orgasm, reaching one hand to keep Mark at the spot, but Mark pushes away and gathers Matt in to his arms, bringing them both up.

Matt is staring up at himself in the mirror with wide eyes. If he was a total mess before, then now—.

“Look at you, you’re looking perfect,” Mark’s voice cut his line of thoughts.

Matt feels a strange mixture of pride and debauchery. He was never ashamed of things he liked but seeing himself in the mirror is like being a string, pulled to the edge, stretched over to the limits, exposed, yet being engulfed in a raw, honest intimate moment under Mark’s skilled hands. The feeling is overwhelming.

They kiss again, open mouthed, sloppy and insatiable. And when there is no more air left for Matt to breathe, Mark asks “What do you want?” soft against his ear, Matt catching the smile in his voice.

“Please let me come. Make me come,” Matt exhales, almost not recognizing his own voice.

“I will. Now, lick my palm.”

Matt does and almost snaps when Mark curls a hand around his cock, brushing thumb over the leaking tip, smirking smugly when Matt is unable to hold back a whine. Every move is a precise twist that pulls Matt to the edge. His eyes dart over the mirror covered in a thin veil of steam. Mark seems to be concentrating too on Matt’s sweaty skin, hardened nipples and stomach convulsing with pleasure.

“I think you probably want more?” Mark says and pulls up two fingers to Matt’s mouth. Matt shivers. His lips part slightly with the instinct to kiss, but he suck greedily at Marks fingers, saliva dripping out of the corner of his mouth.

With just the right amount of pressure, Mark’s fingers are in and Matt tries to maintain his control with all will. “Fuck, Mark,” he mutters out, the doubled sensation is so goddamn good.

“Come on Matt, be a good boy, come for me,” Mark coaxes, voice low and syrupy.

“Mmmhm,” Matt whimpers, his skin tingling, as he’s shoving himself hard against Mark’s fingers and thrusts into his hand. He can feel his orgasm about to come, breath coming faster, harder, his balls tight and his cock leaking all over Mark’s hand, vision going blurry around the edges. Mark’s strokes speed up, jerking him through it and Matt chokes on a whimper.

“Fuck, Jesus, oh my God!” Matt comes in long stripes all over the counter and basin, his legs almost giving up.

After it, Matt is a wheezing blissed out mess in Mark’s arms. When he comes down, his focus kicks back in, Matt stares at his own fucked out reflection. He lets his head fall back against Mark’s shoulder, relishing in the image in front of him.

Matt giggles, giddy with afterglow. “You were right, I look perfect like this, thanks to you.”


End file.
